My Eyes On You
by BelovedShadow
Summary: Taemin has a stalker who worships him ... thoroughly. TaeminXStalker. Based on the song 'Odd Eye' by SHINee. One-Shot but strongly considering additions at a much later point as separate fics.


**A/N: I think it's only fair to explain myself with this one. This fic originated from me asking my best friend to make me a sandwich. I really love her sandwiches, and she really loves Taemin, so I feel like it was a fair trade.**

 **Anyway, my other best friend and I for some reason picture the other character in this fic as Blaise Zabini from Harry Potter, but s/he can be whoever you want. They're meant to be genderfluid and otherwise undescribed so whoever you ship Taemin with in a creepy and stalker-ish fashion will do just fine.**

 **Also, if you read the english lyrics to the song Odd Eye by SHINee you will find my inspiration for this little piece of crazy.**

 **Enjoy!**

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There was nothing better than a backstage view. Sure, front row seats were definitely something to be excited about, but they just didn't quite capture the image the same way. The way his sleek body looked from behind when he wound his hips, or the tiny flecks of sweat that sprinkled off of him, sparkling in the light like dust mites in a ray of sun.

I felt my breath quickening as the song started to reach its climax, and adjusted my position slightly so that there was less pressure on my already straining muscles. The position I was in was rather hard to maintain, but I would do _anything_ for him. Anything.

Jjong was singing and my sweet, sweet angel was behind him to his left, doing what he did best. I watched him, of course. I watched his shoulders, his arms, his hands. I watched the motion of his body, and saw his joy in each subtle gesture, even without seeing his face. There was sweat on the back of his neck and I was overwhelmed with the absolute urge to lap at it with my tongue.

Their performance was coming to an end, and I shifted back to be better covered by the spare lighting scaffold that I was hidden behind. They were coming. My chest ached, and my hamstrings burned. But there he was, approaching with a tired smile on his face. My nails dug into my palms with the effort to not reach out to him, touch his clammy skin, tell him he did a good job.

Apparently he wasn't the one who needed to be told anyway.

"Did I do well?" Jjong asked, receiving a wide grin from their leader who hurried to remind them that the fans were still shouting in the crowd, desperate for their return.

The mention of their adoring audience made his smile even wider, reaching his eyes.

"Can we get to the dressing room please? I'm anxious to get out of these sweaty clothes…"

Fuck. I bit my lip, thinking that it was unfair I couldn't go to him. When he spoke like that… suggesting that he would soon be undressed. I couldn't handle it. The thought of his nude body, covered in perspiration despite his attempt to rid himself of it had arousal building in the pit of my stomach, but I quickly tried to mute it down. Now was not the time. Now it was time to be appreciating him with my eyes and ears. In fact, ignoring every other part of my anatomy had become quite the necessity, with my knees pressed so tightly to my chest that it was near impossible to inhale.

They began making their way to the dressing room, weaving through the bustling liveliness of the seemingly nocturnal blocking crew. Naturally, I followed. After all, I would barely be noticeable in such a boisterous gathering of people. This was something I knew quite well at this point.

I followed him because I always followed him. Since the Replay days, with his tiny boyish limbs and silly haircut. He'd captured my heart before he'd even understood that he was worthy of such devout attention. And I loved him all the more for that. Everywhere that he went, I went.

Even the hallway just outside of the dressing room was full of people, so I leaned beside the door, scrolling through my phone casually while I listened.

"Another note? Who keeps giving you these?"

Key's curious and softly accusing voice was my queue to move on. My chest swelled with joy, just from knowing he'd received my short letter. Still, now that I knew he'd seen it, I had to get a move on. Secreting around at a celebrity's hotel was a lot more difficult than acquiring a backstage pass and putting it to good use, after all.

Hell, just getting a taxi back into the larger part of the city would be difficult after a concert. But difficult was kind of my style. Nothing that was worth fighting for came without the fight, after all.

The streets were well-lit, and luckily for me, getting a cab was a lot easier than I had assumed it would be. I spent the ride looking through pictures I had taken of him recently. My favorite I had captured just the day before yesterday. It was rather innocent compared to some of the others, I'll admit. Just the outline of his exposed body, marginally blurred by the glass of a shower door.

The most fun, though, was looking at pictures and gifs online that others had taken of him and knowing where I was in the background. On one in particular, he is sitting at a table, wearing a hat, looking so – _so_ beautiful. And there I am, tucked behind a rack of coats. Watching. Always watching.

We pulled in to the back of the hotel, and I tipped the driver generously. There was no amount of money in the world that my perfect Taemin wasn't worth.

With a few tricks of well-honed espionage I prowled in through the staff entrance, and getting to his room was a piece of cake from there, seeing as I had long since gotten a key card.

The space was small but well furnished, giving it a cozy vibe that I know he must have felt quite at home in. Adjusting to the idol life was so hard on him at times, I knew. This was why Onew always offered to bunk with Jjong even though they were the two oldest, leaving Minho and Key together and Taemin to himself. Many would assume that he'd be lonely in a solitary room, but this was not the case. Alone time was something that was hard to come by for him. In fact, even the alone time he so prized was rarely authentic, due to my near constant presence.

The closet that usually housed the iron and safe made for a snug but comfortable dwelling, I figured, and I found a tolerable position with the door just barely ajar, giving me a view that displayed half of the TV screen, the end table, and the bed.

I napped while I waited. Couldn't have been more than twenty or thirty minutes. Then I _heard_ him. His voice in the hallway was soft spoken, so as not to wake the other residents on the floor. Minho and Key had walked him to the room, and Key was behaving in a manner that was significantly less considerate, but even the loud laughing fell deaf from my point of view. I had ears only for Taemin.

And then there he was, stepping in the door and closing it behind him with a relieved sigh. Seeing him in private was such a treat. His facial expressions were absolutely to die for when he felt free to be himself. He sat down, out of my sight, at the small desk the hotel had provided, and I could hear the click clack of his laptop while he perused the internet. Every now and then, a breath would exhale heavily from his nose when he saw something funny, and with each of those small puffs, I felt my chest clenching tighter. My god. Just being this close to him was heaven and hell at the same time. On one hand, seeing him only a few short paces away from me was lighting up my sheer existence. On the other, the urge to touch him – _smother_ him with my love was so strong that it caused physical distress to ignore it.

I tried not to breathe too heavily, and just listen to his breathing instead. That's when I noticed. And how could I not have noticed before? Taemin's breathing was off. Just a little off, but still noticeably inconsistent.

I couldn't hear the computer, but if I shifted slightly I could see the shadow the light from the screen was casting, and then that was gone too. The laptop had gone dim. And he hadn't noticed. And he was still breathing like _that_. Breathing like he did when he was worn out from dancing too hard during rehearsal.

The faster his inhales came the more I restricted my own air, knowing better than to relieve the pressure in my lungs for even a moment, or else I would absolutely scream.

Fabric hit the floor.

I needed to see him. Why was he doing this on the wrong side of the room?

I could hear, vaguely, the sounds of flesh. The smacking of his hand against his cock, stroking and pumping, and-

He whimpered.

I threw the doors of the closet open so quickly that one smacked against the wall, and he was just as I expected him, eyes hooded, scooted so far down that he was nearly off of the chair, hand wrapped loosely around his cock.

His eyes only widened a small fraction when I made my dramatic 'entrance' and then he shut them, took a deep breath, and set both hands against the arm rests of the desk chair.

Oh, the picture he made. The long-sleeved blue shirt he'd been wearing earlier was haphazardly discarded in front of the bathroom doorway along with his sandals. The Khakis were still on, just unzipped and unbuttoned with his cock jutting happily upwards out of the opening.

He was looking at me, just looking, and I felt as if he was punishing me somehow.

"I got your letter," He murmured, "It made me feel so naughty reading it right in front of the Hyungs, you know." He pouted playfully, and I watched with absolute attention as his left hand moved from the chair arm to his thigh. The motion was slight, unimportant to him, you would think. But I knew otherwise. I knew that he _knew_. He knew I watched him. He knew I saw it all.

"Do you think Key-Hyung would still have given me his jacket when we were walking to the car if he knew that I wasn't really shivering? It was just so tricky to walk without shaking because you make me so _hard_."

The hand was inching closer all the while, and he ran his fingers delicately over his shaft, his shoulders twitching minutely from the contact. He was always like this when he was turned on, shaken entirely by every little thing.

He pushed his dick down so that I could look directly at the small bead of precum that was budding into existence on the tip of the head.

I licked my lips, but refused to step closer to him, even though my legs were trembling at that point.

"Did you know I was in there?" I asked, tipping my head towards the closet, and backing up, sitting down at the foot of the bed.

"Yeah," He answered.

I looked down at my kneecaps, confused. Taemin and I had been pretty clear with each other all along. I liked to watch him. I'd been watching him forever, and when he'd found out at first he'd been horrified, but… then it had turned into something else.

"If you knew I was in the closet why would you sit somewhere I couldn't see you?" I asked, still looking downwards, "I thought … I thought you wanted me to watch."

He shrugged, playing idly with his sac and looking at me.

He wouldn't say it aloud, I knew, but he liked to watch as well. It was just different. He didn't want to watch me pleasure myself, no. Didn't want to watch me go about my day to day life. He liked to watch me watch _him_. He liked to know. To know that I was always there, always wanting him, every moment of every day. I saw it in little ways he would salute me. Small moments when you would think he was going to do something cute but instead … he teased me. He teased me relentlessly and he got off on it as much as I did.

The tension of knowing all day that I was there but not ever seeing me directly, and then coming home to me at night like this drove him insane sometimes. Finally getting to see me. To see every emotion on my face while I watched him, the way I couldn't keep my eyes off of him. He basked in the attention. And I was more than elated to give it.

"Come here," He told me, wrapping his hand around his cock again and moving it up and down with a few non-committal flicks of the wrist. He was toying with us both, I knew. Touching but not really touching.

Such a lazy and dependent little Maknae. Never wanted to do the real work himself. I approached him without even an illusion of an inkling of hesitation, and stood up next to him, looking down at his face and relishing in the eye contact between us.

"Kneel," He whispered, and my eyes darted down to his length. He was stroking in earnest now. He loved telling me what to do. I suspect this is because bossing people around is not something he is afforded in his usual activities.

I knelt.

"Now put your hands behind your back, and keep them there… that's right, look at my dick."

I couldn't stop wetting my lips. He was fisting his manhood with such genuine enthusiasm that the precum I'd spotted earlier was dripping down slowly, wetting his hands and his balls. I wanted to taste him.

He scooted forward, and stopped stroking, pointing his dick towards my face, only a centimeter away. I scooted forward as well, and he gasped when my lips made contact, but then pulled away.

"No, you don't get to suck it. You want to watch, remember?"

No, no, no. He couldn't be serious right?

"But-"

"Be still," He snapped a little impatiently. Fuck. He was always so impatient when he was close, and I wanted to bring him over that edge, to watch the way his cheeks would flush and his chest would heave.

Regardless, I was still. His wish was my command. I lived for him. Always. Always, and always.

Being still proved to be more of a challenge than I had initially assumed. He pulled my jaw forward, looking down at my eyes, and I couldn't help but look back at his, despite his earlier command that I keep my eyes on his more personal anatomy.

I maintained the eye contact, even when I felt the familiar sensation of his cock against my lips. I tried to open my mouth to take it, but he gripped my jaw more tightly, and I remembered that I had been told to be still. He rubbed the head against my lips, back and forth, thrusting lightly. I knew he was punishing me, making me keep my mouth closed with temptation so _close_.

"Stick your tongue out," He muttered, and I complied immediately, moaning out loud at the taste of him. He slapped my tongue with his cock, hard, and I gasped. He was stroking himself from the base now, and diamond hard, letting the very tip of his penis rest against my wet tongue as if I was just a pleasant edition to his self-inflicted pleasure.

Which is really all I was, I knew. But I didn't want this. I didn't want him deciding to have as much or as little of me as he wanted. I wanted to see him lose control.

Without any warning, I gripped his hips, and shoved my mouth down, taking all of him into my mouth and choking as he jutted at the back of my throat. He didn't care about my loss of breath, grabbing at my hair and shoving himself even deeper. I gagged suddenly, and withdrew, wiping saliva off of my mouth.

A bit before I had recuperated, I'll admit, he was pushing his way back between my lips, poking at the roof of my mouth.

"Ah!" Just the tip of him was slipping down my throat, and I hallowed my cheeks, wanting him to moan again, which he did – gladly, and prettily. "Don't stop!" He demanded, gripping at the arms of the chair for support and thrusting up into my throat anxiously. I was sucking him with equal enthusiasm, lapping at his salty rod and humming deeply in my throat.

"Please… please…"

He always begged when he was just about to come. Always. I don't think he ever knew what he was asking for, and I know I didn't care, because just a moment later he was jerking in the chair, shoving himself against the back of my mouth, once, and again, and then sighing heavily and collapsing back down.

I swallowed his essence like it was an elixir for immortality. Which it was, to me. I could live on nothing but him forever. I lapped at his softening loins for nearly a full minute before he pushed my face away.

"It's too sensitive…" He insisted, yawning loudly. "Did you see the Odd Eye performance tonight?"

"Of course," I responded automatically. "You're so fucking beautiful on stage…"

"I'm tired, go away now." He said, yawning again as if to prove his point. He padded over to the bed and pulled back the covers, kicking off his khakis offhandedly.

I wonder what the other mints would do if they knew our sweet baby sleeps in the nude after he's sated.

"Can I tuck you in?" I asked.

"I don't care," He responded sleepily. The third yawn made it clear that this had been a very tiring day for him, and I felt a bit bad for wearing him out, but the boy brought it upon himself with all that damn dancing like a stripper.

I walked up to the bed, and pulled the covers up to his chest, letting him keep his arms out so he didn't feel trapped. I tucked him securely into the sheets, and he kept his eyes open all the while.

I wanted to stay at his bedside and watch him sleep all night, but I knew he hated that. To him, me watching him was only a good thing if he was actively participating in the world. He couldn't stand being stared at in his slumber and I tried to respect that.

"Goodnight," I whispered, kissing his forehead.

"See ya," He responded, rolling over and undoing all the work I'd put into tucking him in.

"You'll be performing at Inkigayo tomorrow, right?" I asked, already knowing the answer, but not wanting to leave him, even if it was just to go make the arrangements necessary to get backstage tomorrow.

"I'm trying to sleep," He retorted, icily.

"Sorry, bye." I blurted, bowing slightly and rushing out of the room.

He could be in his funky mood if he wanted. I didn't care if he was ashamed of us. We would be together. One day, everyone would know. That it had always been me. That I was his first love, just as he will always be mine. My first. My last. My everything.

The door shut quietly behind me, and I sighed, going off to prepare for tomorrow.

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 **A/N: I am fully prepared for this to be just as ignored as my other fics that don't fit my usual fandoms, but if you do take the time to favorite, review, or subscribe, I will really appreciate it.**

 **I love each and every one of you sweet sugar plums!**

 **-Beloved**


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